Jasper let Clementine tug him up the aisle between the pews. Relief as keen as pain surged through him. Madelina was alive, and the sight of her was all he and Greydrake needed. Even now, with the surety of where they held her, Lefthook would be setting her free.
Clementine had kept her word, for now.
Jasper clenched his fists, wishing he could run to Madelina, help free her. He trusted Greydrake, but if any harm befell Madelina, surely Jasper’s heart would cease its beat.
Even at a distance, she was the stuff of dreams. Seeing her up there on the balcony, white, gauzy gown wind-pressed to her lithe form, silken, waist-length locks dancing about her, his heart suffused with joy.
Greydrake had promised that the moment he had her free, Dodger would enter the church and interrupt the wedding.
They reached the front of the church and halted before the vicar. Jasper eyed the frail old man, hoping he spoke slowly. The vicar gestured for them to kneel. Jasper bowed his head.
“Jasper,” Clementine whispered, voice so low only he could hear.
He cast a look at her askance, head bowed. Above them, the vicar droned.
“You will marry me,” Clementine breathed, words barely audible. “I let the girls at the Aspen go to Second Hope. I signed over my finances. I will have you.” She shifted, ever so slightly, and the tip of a pistol appeared at a fold of her gown. “Understand?”
He dipped his head in the slightest nod. He understood her, but that did not mean he’d obey. The moment he had confirmation that Madelina was safe, he would leave. He didn’t care if Clementine shot him. His life was worthless married to her.
The vicar bade them stand, then continued to speak. Time ticked by, every moment without word from Greydrake ratcheting up the beat of Jasper’s heart until he grew dizzy.
Jasper’s every sense muted. He could focus on one thought only, hearing Greydrake’s adopted son enter the church and announce Madelina’s freedom. All other sounds were no more than a dull hum. His vison dimmed, as if the world were painted over in gray. The flowers decorating the church were insipid colors that emitted no scent. Nothing was real, nothing mattered, except news of Madelina’s safety.
“I can,” his mother’s voice rang out somewhere behind him.
“You can?” the vicar asked, voice squeaking in surprise.
“Yes. I know a reason why these two may not be wed.”
“Jasper,” Clementine hissed.
Jasper fought back into the moment and half-turned to his mother. She stood. Everyone else sat. They all looked at her, but her attention focused on him.
“My son cannot marry that woman,” his mother declared. “Not a month ago, he came to me and told me of his love for another. I believe that love to be true.” Her arm raised. She pointed at Clementine. “I don’t know what evil you’ve done, Miss White, but you cannot have Jasper.”
“Jasper,” Clementine’s voice was low and sharp. “I still have your precious Madelina. If you do not marry me here and now, she dies.”
Jasper opened his mouth. Sound stuck in his throat. He cleared it and tried again. “Mother, I am marrying Miss White.” Where the devil was Greydrake’s assurance?
“But you love another. I know you do.” His mother leveled a glare on Clementine. “And even though you’ve been avoiding me, refusing to tell me what is going on, I know this woman is somehow forcing you to wed her.”
A gasp rippled through the assemblage.
Jasper met his mother’s gaze squarely. “Mother, I marry Miss White for the sake of love. I swear that to you.”
“You do?” his mother’s tone beseeched.
“I do.”
“There, that’s settled.” Clementine took his arm and swiveled him back to the vicar. “Please continue.”
The vicar shifted from foot to foot, cast a look over the crowd, then returned to his drone. A sick, suffocating feeling grew in Jasper. Where was word from Greydrake? Had ill befallen Madelina?
Far too soon for Jasper, the vicar reached the question, “Jasper Arthur Wendell Mclintock, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
Jasper swallowed against the dryness in his throat. Behind them, parishioners shifted. Sibilant murmurs of doubt sounded.
Clementine leaned near, a smile on her lips. “I will shoot your mother,” she whispered.
